Large Fries, Chocolate Shake
by Ben Barrett
Summary: Jude tries not to think about the best days of his life, because they remind him of the Santa Monica Pier and the worst night of his life. Jonnor. Oneshot. Rated T for some dark images and mild language.


**Large Fries, Chocolate Shake  
**By Ben Barrett

_And when I kissed you_  
_Concealing my confusion_  
_Of what I knew, but just couldn't say_  
_I love you, I love you_

_Oh how I love you_  
_And I've never seen better days, better days_

_No, I've never seen better days_

_-Better Days_, Josh Joplin Group

* * *

_For NG, who loves them as much as I do._

* * *

Jude woke up at exactly 3:19 in the morning, just as he had every night for the last year. When he opened his eyes and saw the darkness of his empty room, he didn't even bother looking over at the clock anymore. He knew that it would read the same time it always did, just as he knew the reason for it.

But he didn't like to think about that.

He rose from his bed, plodded down the hall to the bathroom and went about his morning routine. One of the advantages of rising so early was not having to fight for bathroom time with multiple siblings. He could brush his teeth, comb his hair, shower, or even relieve himself as he was doing now without waiting in line. As he stood listening to the sound of his release splashing in the toilet, he thought of how different his life was these days. He was almost fifteen, only a year older than he'd been the day he and Connor had held hands at the movies and kissed in his bedroom, yet he felt like a different person. All those things seemed a lifetime ago.

He gave himself a couple of shakes, then walked over to the sink to brush away his morning breath. In front of the sink sat the bottle of blue nail polish. He had refused to let Mariana or anyone else remove it, though it had been a long time since he'd worn it. He had tried once to put it on, but as he had looked down at his nails, he had been unable to contain his emotions and had started crying. Lena had found him scrubbing so furiously at his hands with polish remover that his fingers were starting to bleed. She had held him to her chest that day, as she had the day outside Connor's hospital room, and he had sobbed himself hoarse.

Now the tears came less frequently, as did his bouts of depression. For a long time, he had attended therapy sessions twice a week. The woman sat and listened as he droned on about school, about family, about his inability to make friends. When she would try to discuss the reason he was there, the source of all his problems, he got angry or changed the subject. Sometimes he just went mute. He hadn't wanted to talk about it. Almost a year later, he still didn't bring it up or respond when other people chose to do so.

He finished brushing and put his Oral B away. He stood there at the sink, his palms against the sink basin and his head down. Today was going to be one of _those _days, he could tell. In spite of himself, he could feel a flashback coming on. He was trying to fight against it, trying to push the memory away, but it kept demanding attention, like a spoiled child.

_"Large fries, chocolate shake!"_

He begged the memory to go away. He had a math test today, and he couldn't afford to have a breakdown. It was a big part of his grade.

_You're bullshitting, Jude, _his inner voice told him. _You don't care about that test. You just don't want to have to look at this. _

_You're right. I don't. _

_You can't avoid it forever. _

_Not forever. Just not now. _

But the more focus he gave it by trying to push it away, the clearer the memory became. His breathing became rapid, and he was afraid he might be headed for another panic attack. He jerked open the medicine cabinet and reached frantically for his medication, sending several other bottles flying. They hit the floor in a shower of plastic, the sound they made as they crashed against the tile magnified by the bathroom walls. Jude barely noticed as he struggled with the childproof cap on his prescription bottle.

"Come on, come on," he begged as the bottle denied him entry again and again. "Please, please plea- Damn it!"

In a fit of rage and frustration, he chunked the bottle at the mirror. It bounced off and hit the floor, where it rolled toward the door. It was picked up by Callie, who had been drawn by the commotion.

"Another bad night, Jude?" she asked as she popped the top of the bottle off with ease. She shook two pills out and placed them in his shaking hand.

"When do I ever have a _good _night?" he asked, tossing the pills into his mouth and lapping up water from the faucet with his palm.

"Fair enough," she replied. "Is there anything I can do?"

He stood against the sink again, taking steadying breaths. He shook his head but spoke not a word. When he opened his eyes and caught his reflection in the mirror, he saw none of the happiness and innocence that had once been there. His eyes were haunted, full of regret and ghosts of the past.

"There's nothing anyone can do," he said.

Jude turned and walked from the bathroom without another word.

"It used to be you and me against the world," Callie said from behind him. He stopped, but did not turn to face her. "When did it become just you against everyone else?" she asked.

He stood for a moment longer, then walked away. Her question needed no answer; she knew very well. He had stopped relying on people the same time he had started waking up every day at 3:19 in the morning.

Jude had wanted to take a shower before leaving, as he rarely returned home before nightfall anymore, but he didn't want to deal with Callie again. Therefore, he went back to his room, threw on some fresh clothes and some body spray, and grabbed a cold pack of Pop Tarts on his way out the door. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually eaten with the family. It had been over a month. They didn't ask him to do so anymore. They didn't really ask him about anything anymore. Most of them left him in his own space to do his own thing, which he appreciated. The exception to that was Callie, who didn't know when to quit.

_A lot of that is guilt, you know. _

_Yeah, I know. Don't care. _

He stopped as he always did at the bush by the front porch. He kept a pack of cigarettes hidden here, because the moms would let him have it if they knew he'd been smoking them for two months. So would Callie, but she'd never been good at minding her own business anyway, or at knocking on doors.

He lit one up as he walked through the darkness of the early morning. Anchor Beach didn't open for several hours, but that was fine. He didn't think he'd be making an appearance today anyway. To hell with that math test. He was headed to the train tracks. He had this spot he liked to sit beneath the river bridge. It was just a little strip of sand, so small that when the river was high it was completely submerged, but it was a secret place. Either no one else knew it was there or no one else cared to go down there. He sometimes spent entire days there.

It was the trains, mostly. The deafening sound of an occasional train roaring above him was one of the few things loud enough to drown out the ghosts in his head. When there were no trains, the gentle bubble of the river was therapeutic and calming, almost hypnotizing. He had on occasion pondered whether that was why the chronically homeless tended to live under bridges. Did it help drown out the voices from the past, the ones that reminded them of the mistakes that led to them being homeless?

_"Are you okay, Jude?"_

_Lena. _

_A shrug from him. _

_"Do you want to talk?"_

_From across the room:_

_"Large fries, chocolate shake!"_

He pulled out his phone and jammed in his ear buds. He cued up the first song in the list, "I Don't Want To Be Here Anymore" by Rise Against, and turned the volume up as loud as his ears would allow. He didn't always listen to such music, but he'd found a strange sort of comfort in it. Loud, screaming songs worked like the trains: they overpowered things he was trying hard not to remember.

Things like Santa Monica and "Large fries, chocolate shake."

God, if he never heard that again, he'd consider it a personal favor from a God he was seriously doubting even existed.

* * *

At just after six, the coffee shop known as The Groovy Bean opened for business. Since it was in a suburban area, it didn't get quite as much business as the places downtown, but it was still quite busy. Jude was a regular, and they knew him by name and order. He came in every day at 6:15 and ordered the same dark roast with two sugars.

"Morning, Jude," the man behind the counter said. "Same old same?"

"Yes, please."

"You know, you should try some of our other products, man," the barista said as went to work on Jude's order. "We have great croissants and blueberry muffins. And we have gluten-free macaroons."

"Gluten-free macaroons?" Jude scoffed. "Do you get a lot of hipsters in here?"

"Cute," the barista said, handing the cup to him. "Two dollars even, same as always."

Jude exited the shop as the sky was beginning to brighten. He ducked behind the building to the employee break area, where he lit up a cigarette and sipped his coffee. All part of the routine. He'd developed a lot of those in the last year. He would sip his coffee and smoke his cigarette. At 6:45 he would drain the cup, the contents cold, and chunk the cup into the dumpster. He would step behind the dumpster, smoke one last cigarette, then go to the bridge. This part of the routine was variable, and he spent more time at school than at the bridge because, despite contemplating homeless behavior, he didn't want to drop out and actually _end up _homeless.

Today was different though. Today was one of his bad days. He couldn't face Anchor Beach today. He couldn't stand walking the hallways alone when he once had someone beside him; he couldn't stand seeing that other kid using Connor's old locker; he couldn't stand seeing the looks on the faces of other students, that expression that told him they thought he was losing his marbles. Most of all, he hated, hated, _hated _that goddamn trophy case. The state finals trophy with Connor's name on it was there, the one they'd won for second place. In fact, the whole case was filled with reminders of his best friend, his first love.

It was getting to be too much again, and he jammed the ear buds back in. He would deviate from his routine this morning, as much as it bothered him. He could not stand to sit there drinking coffee anymore. He felt anxious, panicked, on edge. He'd allowed himself to indulge too much in thoughts of Connor, even though he knew better.

He tossed his half cup of still-warm coffee in the trash and took off.

* * *

The river was nice. There were no memories here. Rivers were always changing and kept no records of the past, no judgmental list of past sins. They flowed without remorse, without thought of the human struggles going on around them, sometimes right at their very banks. They were apathetic, silent save for their gurgling, and never revealed any secret given to them.

And Jude had revealed many secrets to this river. It was the best therapist he'd ever had. He would often talk for hours, telling the water how he felt about life or revealing his fears of the future. The river listened patiently, never interrupting or trying to steer the conversation toward things he didn't want to discuss. Sometimes he told jokes. The river never laughed, even at the real rippers, but that was okay. In many ways, the cold, silent river was his best friend. His _only _friend.

Today was not one of those days, though. Today, if he tried to talk, he would probably have a breakdown. So he sat in silence, and like a good friend should, the river sat with him.

He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind through meditation. He slowed his breathing and tried to focus only on the sound of the water in front of him. The bubbling, gurgling sound was so relaxing, so soothing. He felt his tension begin to slip away. The memories attempted to crowd in, but he didn't even give them the attention required to try and force them back. He kept his mind attuned to the water and tried to picture himself floating gently with the stream.

_I'm like driftwood, being carried by the current. _

In the back of his mind, he saw driftwood thrown upon the Santa Monica beach by the waves.

_I'm drifting towards the sea, leaving all my worries on the shore. _

Santa Monica was a place he never wanted to see again.

_Have I left everything else on the shore as well? _

Santa Monica had taken everything from him.

_Y-yes. Even my clothes. I am following the current, naked as a fish. Current is getting fast, though. _

That goddamn pier with that cursed ferris wheel that haunted his dreams.

_Why... Why is the current suddenly so rough? Why isn't it relaxing me anymore? _

Every night, the sight of the pier woke him at 3:19 and-

"STOP!" he cried, clutching the sides of his head. He picked up a large rock and hurled it into the river. "Just stop! Please!"

He put his face in his hands and began to sob. He was so tired of this shit. He was tired of having it haunt his every waking hour, his every dream. There was no respite, no getting away from it. He had tried everything imaginable, save for recreational drugs. Even at his most desperate, he would never allow himself to hit absolute rock bottom.

He fell onto his side and lay there weeping, the tears flowing down his face and darkening the sand beneath his cheek. He no longer had any fight left in him. He remained there on the ground, crying and thinking of the one who had once been his best friend. Seeing Connor's face in his mind's eye caused him so much anguish. He felt as though his soul was being ripped into pieces, like he could take them and hide them in objects and make Horcruxes.

He cried until he exhausted himself. He felt his eyelids growing heavy and knew that falling asleep here would be a bad idea, but he made no effort to move. It had been so long since he'd had a decent night's sleep...

* * *

_He and Connor walk along the Santa Monica pier, holding hands. Even though Lena told him once that people could be dangerous when they saw something different, he doesn't care. It has been three months since Connor officially became his boyfriend in the hospital room. He'd confronted Connor's father Adam wearing the blue nail polish and his determination had been rewarded. Connor had been delighted to see him, and equally delighted to see the "war paint" adorning his fingers. _

_They had cuddled in bed that day, and since then their relationship has only grown stronger. Jude has loved every minute of it. Connor is always so respectful of him. Though their kissing has sometimes gotten rather heavy, Connor has never touched him below the waist or even tried to remove his shirt. Connor has simply loved Jude and has let Jude be the one to signal when he is ready to move forward to more serious things. _

_One thing they have never said to each other was that one three word phrase, the one that, when uttered, could either take a relationship to a deeper place or shatter it to pieces. Jude has been waiting for the right moment to say it. Though he's felt it for a long time, he isn't the kind of kid who just blurts out his feelings. Tonight, he considers saying it. It is, in fact, right on his lips, just begging to be verbalized. They have had so much fun today riding the rides, eating overpriced food and playing games. Connor even won Jude a small blue unicorn. He handed it to him and said, "For my blue Judicorn."_

_Jude had blushed deep crimson. _

_As they walk toward the far end of the pier, Jude looks at Connor and smiles. He is overjoyed when Connor smiles back at him. He looks down at his feet as he summons the courage to say what he's wanted to say for so long. _

_"Connor?" he says, still looking down. There is no answer. He glances back over and finds that Connor is no longer there. The hand that had been clasped around his is gone, and he is completely alone. _

_"Connor?" he calls out. He looks around, but sees no one; not Connor, not other visitors, not employees. The pier is deserted._

_He feels a sense of dread wash over him. Where is everyone? He walks back toward Santa Monica, but he finds no one anywhere. Concession stands have meals deserted and half-eaten, or cooking on the grill with no one watching. The rides are going full blast, but no one is on them and the controls sit unmanned. Even the ferris wheel is devoid of life as it spins._

_"Hello?" he calls. _

_He is beginning to panic. He looks around him frantically, trying to figure out what's going on. He begins to run, the terror growing stronger with every second. He hears a splash from somewhere behind him and turns to look, but finds himself in that instant on the dark beach north of the pier. How did he get here? What was happening to him?_

_Another splash. This time ahead of him. He runs toward it, dropping his blue unicorn in his haste. As he gets near a large pile of old driftwood washed upon the sands, he feels an unexplainable horror. He doesn't want to be here. There is something bad here, something he doesn't want to see. It's like a monster stalking him through the darkness. He looks around in a frenzy, looking and calling for anyone. He calls for his moms, he calls for Callie, he even calls for Jesus. At the last he calls for Connor. He hears a sound and turns... _

_Then he screams. _

* * *

He woke up screaming. He was vaguely aware of a gentle hand shaking him and speaking softly into his ear.

"Come on, kid, wake up."

He leapt to his feet and looked around, sure that the monsters were real, that he was about to be mugged or raped. Instead, he saw an old wino, hands out in a soothing gesture. He looked like he was at least ninety years old.

"Easy," the old man said. "Easy. Poppy don't hurt no kids. Poppy was just concerned."

Jude took a deep breath and lowered his hands. He'd jumped into a defensive stance on instinct.

"Sorry," Jude said.

"It's okay. Poppy was just walking along the tracks when he heard you moaning down here. Poppy thought you might be hurt."

"No, I'm fine."

Jude sighed and sat back down in the sand. He fished his cigarettes from his pocket and slid one into his mouth.

"Oh, tsk tsk," Poppy said, sitting down next to him. "Poppy is always sorry to see kids smoking. Cancer killed Poppy's parents."

"There are worse things, Poppy," Jude said.

"No!" Poppy exclaimed. "Nothing is worse than dying. After you die, you are gone. You can never do good for this world again. Never change things. Never make them better."

Jude looked at him for a moment, then turned back to the river and took a drag.

"I used to be like you, Poppy," Jude said. "I used to try and see the good in life, even when my sister went to jail and my foster father would beat me. They used to look at me and say, 'What a sweet kid.' But I got a wake up call, Poppy. Life is always just looking for a chance to kick you in the pills."

"Oh, dear," Poppy moaned. "What happened to make you so upset? Tell Poppy."

Jude felt his walls going back up again. He always reacted the same way when his therapist asked him.

"My boyfriend left me," Jude mumbled. "He left me to face the world alone."

"Boyfriend left you," Poppy repeated. "Poppy doesn't judge. But why does it cause nightmares? Why did you stop believing in good?"

Jude didn't answer. He had said all that he was comfortable saying.

_Large fries, chocolate shake! _

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying once again to block it out. It was getting louder, though, and he felt he might snap or have a full-blown panic attack if he stayed here much longer. He wanted to run again, run away from the ghosts that chased him and the people who wanted him to talk about them.

The soft hand on his shoulder returned.

"It's okay," Poppy said. Jude looked at the withered old hand, surprised at how much comfort was in it. Just that simple touch from another human being had dropped the volume of the memories and stopped his panic attack in its tracks.

"Who are you?" Jude asked.

"Poppy."

A smile revealed crooked and diseased teeth.

"Poppy wants to help," Poppy continued, "but Poppy knows you don't want to talk about it. But Poppy knows. Poppy has seen that look on the faces of war veterans. Men who shot other men. Your boyfriend didn't leave you for another boy."

"No," Jude said, his lip quivering.

"Your boyfriend..."

Poppy trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. Jude nodded.

"You aren't a bad kid. Poppy can tell. You are just holding it in. You will feel better when you can talk about it."

Jude put his face in his arms and wept again. Poppy rubbed his shoulders as he did so, but it wasn't a creepy gesture; it was the actions of a man with paternal instincts, trying to bring comfort.

"Let it go," Poppy said. "Go talk to him."

* * *

Jude walked up the gravel driveway, his sneakers crunching with every step. The place was so quiet. He knew where Connor was, even though he'd never been to visit. His moms had been here several times and had encouraged him to join them. He could never bring himself to do it. He hated cemeteries, hated even walking by them. The thought of Connor in this one, his beautiful eyes closed forever and buried beneath six feet of dirt, was more than Jude had been able to bear. Even a year after it had happened, the thought of it drove him mad.

He approached the plot with a heavy heart.

**Connor Stevens  
****"Beloved Son"**

Seeing the name there on the stone caused the tears to fill his eyes anew. He felt his willpower breaking down, and he felt the urge to flee. He couldn't do that now that he'd come here. It would be beyond disrespectful.

"Hey, Connor," he said. "It's Jude. Sorry I haven't been by until now. It's... been hard on me."

Silence.

"I miss you so much," he continued. "I still have the blue unicorn. I keep it on my bed all the time. It's the only thing from that day that I didn't burn."

He stopped to wipe his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

"I wish you were here. I miss the way it felt when you kissed me and held my hand."

He knelt down and caressed Connor's name.

"So cold," he said. Then, angrily: "I wish we'd never gone to Santa Monica that day."

* * *

The trip to the pier had been a summertime treat. Jude's moms had wanted to do something nice for the kids, and had agreed to let Connor come along. Jude and Connor had spent the whole day together, just like in Jude's dream. The blue unicorn was real, the holding hands was real; even Jude's desire to tell Connor he loved him was real.

However, at the end of the day, as Jude prepared to confess his feelings, Connor had asked Jude to meet him at the front. He said he had something to do, and that he would be just a minute. Jude offered to stay so that they could walk back together, but Connor had declined.

"It's fine, Jude," he said. "It'll only be a little bit. I want you to go save us some better seats in the van. No way am I sitting in the back with your drill sergeant sister putting herself between us again. I couldn't hold your hand the whole way here because she's crazy nuts."

"Callie just worries about me," Jude said. "It comes from being a foster kid. But okay. I'll let my moms know you'll be a few."

Connor gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"Thanks, Jude."

Jude smiled and walked away. It was the last time he ever saw Connor alive. He waited for five minutes, then ten. Then fifteen. By that point, he was becoming increasingly worried,especially when he saw the emergency vehicles approach the pier.

The rest of the night was a blur as he was told that Connor had gone over the rail into the dark Pacific. His "business" had been buying Jude one last present. He'd gotten him a helium balloon with the phrase "Wanna B Mine" on it. It was what Connor asked him the day they first became lab partners. As he'd been walking back, he'd strolled along the rails where the anglers sometimes fished. The balloon had slipped from his grasp and had gotten snagged on one of the light poles. Connor couldn't reach it with his bare hands, so he had climbed up onto the rail and tried to snag the long blue streamers with his fingers. A member of the staff came toward him, yelling at him to get down just as he lost his balance and tumbled over the side into the sea.

Rescue workers looked for him for over an hour. When it became obvious that it had become less a rescue and more a recovery of the body, Jude had been devastated. He had refused to go home, and insisted he stay as long as possible. He wanted to know when they found him. Lena sent Stef and the rest of the family home and sat with him on the dark beach. As they waited into the early hours of the morning, Lena tried to comfort him. He wanted nothing to do with it. There was no hope after so much time that the first person he had ever loved was still alive, and it broke his heart.

In the hours before twilight, Lena got him to agree to go for a walk down the beach with her to at least try to get his mind off of it for a few minutes. It was there on the beach, at 3:19 in the morning, that they saw a dark mass in the sand that they thought was driftwood. It turned out to be Connor's body. Jude threw himself upon it, crying and screaming, kissing his face and telling him how much he loved him as the lights of the ferris wheel sparkled in the distance.

The next few days were a repeat of previous experiences. He clammed up and refused to speak. He didn't make a sound during the funeral or in the week that followed. He was numb all over. He felt nothing, took pleasure in nothing. He had gone into some kind of shock.

Eight days after the accident and five days after the funeral, Lena came downstairs and found him in front of the TV. He was staring blankly at the screen, not seeing anything that was going on.

"Jude, honey," she said as she sat down next to him. "Are you okay, Jude?"

He simply shrugged and said nothing.

"Do you want to talk?_"_

He looked over at her, his eyes full of pain. He'd stumbled across the dead body of his boyfriend. He didn't know how to begin processing it.

"It's okay to cry, you know," she said. "You don't have to bottle it inside."

It was in this moment that he came back to himself. He thought back on finding Connor's body, how cold and wet it had been. It had been so much different from the warm arms that had held him. He thought of Connor's smile that he would never see again, his laugh that he would never hear again, his kisses he would never feel or taste again. He looked over at the TV. The Nickelodeon show _The Fairly Oddparents _was just coming on. The main character was demanding all the things he wanted to some ridiculous melody.

_Obtuse, rubber goose,  
__green moose, guava juice,  
__Giant snake, birthday cake,  
__large fries, chocolate shake!_

It was the catalyst that set everything off. He thought of Connor's beautiful eyes.

_Large fries, chocolate shake!_

He thought of his generosity, how he had given Jude his handheld video game.

_Large fries, chocolate shake!_

He began bawling. He threw himself against Lena's bosoms, asking her again and again why Connor had been taken from him. She'd been unable to provide him with an answer. He had cried himself to sleep in her arms, the one line of that damn song looping in his head over and over again.

_Large fries, chocolate shake!_

Lena had tried to tell him that time would lessen the sting of it all, and he had _wanted _to believe her. However, when school started that fall, he was dismayed to see that the school had erected a small memorial to Connor in the trophy case. On the bottom shelf sat the trophies with his name on them, bookending a smiling photo. Connor in front of a blue background. The small placard simply said:

**In Memoriam  
****Connor Stevens**

Jude didn't want the memorial removed, because it was an incredibly nice gesture, but at the same time it made life for him very difficult. He hated walking by that trophy case, because every time he did he felt his composure slip.

How could time lessen the sting if there was always something slicing fresh wounds?

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Connor," he said to the headstone. "I'm sorry I never told you I loved you. I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner. I'm sorry you... died thinking of me. "

He wiped his tear-soaked eyes, but there were more tears still coming. He couldn't help it. He had been trying to block all of this out for so long, and now a year of grieving was coming back on him all at once.

"I love you, Connor," he said. "I'm sorry."

**Fin**


End file.
